


The Morning After The Nights Before

by taichara



Category: Fire Emblem: If | Fire Emblem: Fates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-17
Updated: 2020-04-17
Packaged: 2021-03-01 22:20:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 591
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23694535
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/taichara/pseuds/taichara
Summary: A different kind of ambush.
Relationships: Lazward | Laslow/Marx | Xander
Comments: 2
Kudos: 32
Collections: Flash In The Pan: A Food Flash Exchange





	The Morning After The Nights Before

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Kalloway](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kalloway/gifts).



"Good morning, milord ~"

Laslow's soft singsong filtered in at the exact moment Xander registered -- through the haze of sleep and heavy warmth of coverlets -- the weight of something foreign being slowly settled on top of him, and only the fact that it was Laslow kept him from lashing out in hard-earned instinct.

"... What --"

Pat, pat on his shoulder. Blinking blearily, he glowered through disheveled locks of hair at his entirely-too-lively retainer; by the Dusk Dragon, when did Laslow even slip out of the bed to begin with, let alone get himself groomed and dressed and --

"And perhaps now, milord, you'll be willing to listen, just a bit? After you've eaten, of course, and no fussing about that either."

\-- a tray. It was a black ironwork tray that Laslow had set over him, stubby little legs dug into the bedclothes, which meant Xander had to be very careful indeed as he eased himself into something more resembling a sitting position. No challenge, not really, but still. And all the while Laslow, having moved away again, busied himself at the nightstand and hummed cheerfully under his breath. 

The wretch.

Xander sighed inwardly before steeling his voice.

"This is very --"

Laslow glanced over his shoulder. The lamplight flashed a spark off his near earring, clawlike and golden; but for all his humming and bustling about, the look he gave Xander was frank and open.

"Forward of me? Cheeky, perhaps? It certainly is, milord, but also necessary, because how many nights in a row now are you going to be awake all hours with your face buried in those miserable missives? You can't keep that up. Believe me, I know. So take this morning, if only an hour of it. And _eat_ , by the gods."

It was like the word flipped a switch. Suddenly Xander's still-waking self took in the contents of the tray that half weighted him down: scones and cream were briefly appealing, but paled in comparison to the carefully fanned collops of barely seared steak that oozed juices and blood across the plate. Even the diced kingcaps (and what stunt Laslow pulled to acquire those mushrooms, Xander was half afraid to ask) did not compare.

Wordlessly, Xander reached for a knife --

And saw the second blade, cushioned on carefully folded silks, set carefully to the tray's edge.

He glanced in Laslow's direction; the man was already beside the bed, offering him a teacup with utmost precision, and utterly unruffled.

"One course at a time, milord? At your pleasure."

"Ah .. Yes."

Oh, he wasn't going to live this down, was he. Better to nurse the cup for a moment -- but just a moment, lest the tray's contents cool too much -- and try to collect his thoughts ...

Oh.

_Where_ had Laslow found something like --

"I hope that the blend appeals, milord; it's something from my homeland."

... _Oh._

Clearly, Laslow was waiting for _some_ kind of response (not so adept at hiding his thoughts from his liege, now? or was it something else? which was -- something else to muse over), which was only fair. And oh, yes, Xander had every intention of showing him just _how_ much he appreciated all this, right this moment, after all the madness of the last bloody-minded days...

... _After_ breakfast. 

A "breakfast" closer to midday, he suspected; clearly, he needed this most excellent of teas.

Alas.

Well, he'd just make the best of it, then.

"Laslow?"

"Yes, milord?"

Before Laslow could twitch Xander had a handful of his sleeve, smiling wolfishly --

"Stop hovering."

A soft chuckle.

"Of course, milord Xander ~"


End file.
